I often see this old woman with her cart:
I also often see an old man with his cart plying the same route everyday getting boxes from a nearby supermarket.
There’s this mentally-challenged man who also carries his own cart and oftentimes stops other men, mostly policemen, to adjust or fix a part of his cart. His cart always looks it is need of fixing. And as always, those who were being asked were good sports about it. The privilege of a challenged mind? Nevertheless, you see a display of good human nature.
Winter, spring, summer or fall. I wonder, how could life be when at an old age, your every day is defined by the pulling and pushing of carts?